


Cheshire

by yeaka



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 09:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16679401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Elrond’s lost; Thranduil’s dead weight.





	Cheshire

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for gohan-n’s “6 [wonderland] for the prompt meme. Elrond/Thranduil” request on [my tumblr prompt list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/179060905990/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, Alice in Wonderland, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The forest is dense and wild, full of odd things that look straight out of dreams, and more than once, Elrond wonders if he really is dreaming—it’s the only real explanation. But it _feels_ real, and it’s gone on much too long. He’s endured far too many ridiculous adventures in the span of this one day, and he’d really, truly like to finds his way back home. 

He’s making his way through large swirls of rose bushes, some white and some red, when a laughing sound draws his attention up. He sees nothing there—just the thick branches of the oak tree overhead. The purpling sky shows through the leaves, the stars not quite unfamiliar. Then the air seems to ripple, and a wide smile forms out of nothing. The chiseled jaw of a man follows it, ice-blue eyes coming after that, then long, flowing blond hair. Bit by bit, a body becomes visible, tall and sprawled out across the branch. The man looks to be about Elrond’s age, similar to Elrond’s build, except this man has the pointed yellow ears of a cat, and a trim, flicking tail trails down behind him.

“Well, well, Alice,” the man-cat coos, his voice silken and sensual. While he speaks, he eyes Elrond up with a feral sort of hunger that borders right on lewd. “You certainly look different than last time.”

Instinctively, Elrond checks behind him, but there’s no one else the attractive man could be talking to. Although he’d think it obvious, he corrects, “I am not Alice, and I have never seen you before in my life.”

A golden brow quirks. “Are you sure? Oh, but you must be... no one would forget me.” The lazy grin grows into a self-assured smirk, showing off two rows of gleaming white teeth. Everything about the man is visual perfection, but Elrond’s too exhausted and exasperated to be impressed. “But now we have met, Not-Alice, and I suggest you remember the name ‘Thranduil’ as well as you remember the handsome sight of me.”

It would be just Elrond’s luck that the first elf-like thing he’s seen all day would be as uselessly nonsensical as the scenery. Elrond doesn’t give his name in return, because he can already tell this ‘Thranduil’ will be about as helpful as the babbling rabbit and the birds made out of bread.

In Elrond’s silence, Thranduil purrs, “What’s the matter, Beautiful? Cat got your tongue? Mm, wouldn’t that be nice...”

Elrond’s cheeks heat, but he forcibly ignores the bait. He doesn’t have time to flirt with cats. He tries instead: “Do you know a way out of here?”

“Why, yes. Step two paces right. Or left. Or even up, if you can.”

Elrond has always thought himself a patient man, but this land is making it quite difficult. He clarifies: “A way out of this forest.”

Thranduil nods, tail suddenly going rigid in a particular direction. “Certainly. Many more paces that way.” Then the tail abruptly jerks right around. “Or that way, if you prefer.”

Elrond waits, gets nothing, and presses, “Well? Which is it?”

“They are both an ‘it’, naturally; a direction is a noun, you know.”

There are no words to describe how disappointing this entire trip has been. Elrond can’t seem to stop himself from bitterly muttering, “As expected, you are no better than the caterpillar.”

Thranduil’s eyes light up, and in a heartbeat, he disappears, only to burst back into existence right in front of Elrond. He stands on two legs like any elf, but the way he starts to pace around Elrond is distinctly feline, from the hunch of his shoulders to the alert stance of his ears. His eyes roam hungrily over Elrond as he muses, “The one with all the wine? How ever did you know we were friends?” Thranduil stops again and leans in far too close, purring huskily, “Of course, if you have any wine, you and I can be friends too.”

There’s probably wine somewhere in Imladris’ cellars. Against his better judgment, Elrond bargains, “I could arrange that... _if_ I were brought home.” He’s reached the point where he’s desperate for a resolution, and Thranduil obviously has some intelligence, even if he doesn’t look particularly intent on using it.

Thranduil’s ensuing grin is sly and knowing. His tongue runs across his lips, and then he turns on his heel. His hips swing seductively as he begins his march forward, bidding Elrond, “Come along then, Not-Alice; Not-Wonderland is waiting.”


End file.
